


Out of Ashes

by adiwriting



Series: Invisible String [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Deaf Character, Jesse Manes is a War Crime, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adiwriting/pseuds/adiwriting
Summary: Alex’s world is cruel and unrelenting. His entire life, he’s yearned for a home. A place to belong and feel loved. He always assumed he’d have to leave Roswell to find it. Then something curious happens… he finds beauty where there’d only ever been ash. And his world comes together in the most unexpected way. Soulmate!AU, Deaf!MichaelA companion piece to "Sanctuary" but they can honestly be read in either order.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Invisible String [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853725
Comments: 36
Kudos: 118





	Out of Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the companion piece to my Michael centric fic "Sanctuary." While not every scene will overlap, I'm curious if you guys will catch all the little moments that Alex and Michael shared without realizing it. 
> 
> Thank you for all the positive feedback on Sanctuary. It meant a lot! I am still making my way through it and plan on getting back to everyone today! I wanted to get this fic finished and posted first.

**_Let beauty come out of ashes…_ **

**2007**

Alex lays on the roof of the shed, staring up at the night sky in wonder. He doesn’t understand how a world that makes such awe inspiring beauty can be so endlessly cruel. He scans the stars, looking at the constellations. He finds Náhookòs Bikò‘ easily. His mom had taught him about the North Star and how it stood for warmth, stability, and security way back when he was a toddler. It’s supposed to represent home, but Alex has to laugh at that one. His home has never been warm, stable, or remotely secure. 

Instead he ignores the old Navajo constellations he learned as a kid and focuses on the ones Rosa and Maria have been teaching him about. He finds Lyra and Pegasus. He has to concentrate, but he finds Pisces and Aquarius. Those aren’t where his eyes end up drifting to and staying on, though. There’s a small constellation that makes a V that his eyes always end up lingering on. Rosa doesn’t know it and Maria told him that meant he got to name it. Alex has yet to come up with something that sounds worthy enough, however. 

It’s probably silly. That a simple little unknown constellation would give him peace in the storm, but it does. And Alex has learned over the years to take every bit of reprieve he can find. 

It’s nearing midnight and he’s growing tired, but he isn’t ready to go back in the house just yet. His side still aches from where his dad had shoved him into the kitchen counter and held him there as he screamed at him. 

He doesn’t like the septum piercing. 

Alex smirks as he pictures the horrified shock on his dad’s face when he’d walked through the door after hitting up the tattoo parlor with Rosa. The three week ordeal of getting his fake ID had been well worth it. He loves the piercing and he loves how much his dad hates it. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out to see that he has a text. 

Rosa (11:49pm): I hate this town. 

Alex snorts

Alex (11:50pm): Same. Where we moving to? 

Things have never been good in Roswell for Alex, but they’ve been especially bad the last few years since Greg joined the Navy. And while Alex’s relationship with Flint is nonexistent, at least when he’d still been home it had been another person for his father to focus his attention on. Now that it’s just his dad and him in the house, it’s brutal. 

Rosa (11:53pm): How far will $36.32 get us? 

Alex (11:55pm): Won’t even cover two bus tickets to Albuquerque. 

Rosa (11:59pm): Fuck this town. 

Alex hears the sound of the garage door closing and looks over towards the house to see his dad is in the process of turning off all the lights. It means he’s finally going to bed and Alex can too. He carefully climbs down from the roof and walks slowly back towards the house, giving his dad plenty of time to head to his bedroom. Once Alex is safely back in his room with the door locked, he climbs into bed and pulls back out his phone. 

Alex (12:12am): The moment I graduate, I’m on the first bus out of town. 

Rosa (12:16am): I’m only pretty sure that I can’t take anymore

Alex recognizes the Third Eye Blind lyric instantly, which tells him what kind of mood she’s in. And honestly, he feels the same. Except he’s a lot more bitter and isn’t feeling any soft melancholy about it. His mind is screaming something a lot more intense. 

Alex (12:17am): I find the answers aren’t so clear...

He responds with his own lyric, not having the courage to finish the line knowing he really shouldn’t put that out there in such a permanent way. But Rosa will get it. She’ll hear the song and understand. His faith in her is rewarded with her next text. 

Rosa (12:18am): Fuck that, Chiquito. You don’t get to disappear on me.

His eyes water as he thinks about how much easier it would honestly be if he could just fade away. 

When he doesn’t respond his phone starts to ring. He answers it without saying anything, already knowing it’s Rosa on the other end of the line. She doesn’t say anything either. Instead, he hears the melody of “Black Balloon” playing into the second verse. He lets out a shaky smile as a tear falls. She always knows him so well. Maybe because they are both so similar in how they use music to express the things they can’t put into words. 

He stays on the line for the rest of the song. Then listens through as Rosa plays “Name.” By the time “Better Days” comes on, Rosa starts singing the song to him and he joins in with a whisper, not wanting to wake his dad. 

When the song is over, Rosa doesn’t ask him to say anything. She knows him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to right now, even if he wanted to. She just tells him that she loves him and wishes him a good night. 

****

**1997**

Alex sits in Greg’s room with his brothers trying not to cry. Greg has one arm around Alex and his other around Flint. Clay is at the window, staring out, giving them all a play by play. 

None of this makes any sense, no matter how many times Greg tries to explain it to him. He knows that Mom and Dad have been arguing a lot. Almost every night, after Mom tucks him in, he hears them yelling at each other. Mom is crying all of the time and pretends she isn’t. Dad is angry all the time. 

“Is she going to come back?” Flint asks and Alex closes his eyes at the harsh way Clay says, “No.” 

“Can we go with her?” Alex asks. 

“Why would you want to?” Clay asks, storming over to the bed and standing over Alex in a way that makes him shrink into Greg’s side. 

“Clay, stop,” Greg says. 

“No, don’t they get it? She’s leaving us. She made her choice,” Clay says before storming out of the room and slamming the door, causing both Alex and Flint to jump. 

“Doesn’t she love us anymore?” Flint asks. 

Greg doesn’t answer them, he just holds them closer and that’s when Alex starts crying properly. 

****

**2007**

Alex takes a deep, steadying breath, before walking into the kitchen where his dad is currently making dinner. 

“Hey, um… I need $75 for school,” he says as confidently as he can. His dad hates indecision. 

“What do you need $75 for?” he asks, setting down the spatula to face him fully. Alex does his best to stand tall and not fidget. 

“College applications are due next week,” he says. 

His dad stares at him critically and Alex can’t help the way he squirms under his gaze. His dad’s eyes narrow at the movement before turning back to cooking. 

“I see,” is all he says. 

A knot forms in his stomach as he continues to stand there. He hasn’t been dismissed from the conversation and to leave would be grounds for punishment. He knows his dad isn’t happy. The only question remaining is how he’s going to handle his disappointment. 

Alex should have just asked Greg to float him the money and figured out a way to pay him back later. Alex hasn’t wanted to bother him though. Not since he got shipped to Iraq. 

“Are you going to keep standing there or are you going to set the table,” he says harshly. Which is the dismissal Alex had needed. 

“Right,” he says, moving to grab them both plates from the cabinet. 

“What was that?” his dad says. 

“Yes, Sir,” he corrects himself. 

Five minutes later they are both sitting down at the table, preparing to eat. His father says grace and Alex digs his nails into his fists to keep from saying anything sarcastic when his dad asks for the same thing he always asks for — his children to find their way. If Alex believed in a higher power, he would care more that his dad prays for him to be straight. But Alex lost all faith in anything years ago. 

“I thought we discussed enlisting in the Air Force,” his dad says once they start eating. 

“We did,” he says carefully. They’d had a long conversation last month about Alex joining the Air Force. And by conversation, Alex means that his dad had talked at him and never let him get a word in edgewise. 

“And yet you’re asking me for money to apply to college.” 

Alex sighs. He’s been debating how to bring this up to his dad for weeks. He doesn’t want to enlist. He’s seen enough violence growing up. His dad is his war. And he’s been counting down the days til he can be free. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, but he does know that he wants to get far away from here. 

He’s been talking to Rosa about moving to a big city once he graduates. She wants to get clean and attend art school. He just wants to make music and help people. To do something good with his life. 

“I’ll join after I get a degree,” he lies. “I can be an officer.” 

“You don’t need a desk position handed to you. You need to get your hands dirty in the trenches.” 

Alex rolls his eyes. As if being in the trenches will somehow make him straight. 

“The Air Force has trenches?” he asks sarcastically and immediately regrets it when his dad’s shoulder tense and he sits up higher in his seat. 

Alex is getting hit tonight. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to college first.” The words imply that his father is simply offering him advice, but Alex knows better. He hears the demand in the tone. Alex isn’t going to get a say. 

He feels his anger grow, and he figures if his dad’s already pissed, he may as well go for broke and go down fighting. 

“Why not?” Alex asks, sitting up in his seat, making himself as tall as possible. 

“You’ve got enough radical views,” he dad says, his tone full of disgust. 

Alex snorts. “What like freedom? Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? Isn’t that what you went to war to protect? My right to choose what I do with my life?” 

His dad slams his hands down on the table. 

“You watch your tone with me,” he says. 

“Yes, Sir,” Alex responds sarcastically. Adding in a salute for good measure. 

His dad curses before taking a deep breath. As if he cares about controlling his temper. Alex rolls his eyes. 

“You need structure. The military will give that to you,” he says with finality. 

“No,” Alex argues. 

His dad stands up and throws his plate at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. But thankfully, none of them hit Alex. He holds himself incredibly still as he waits for his dad’s next move. 

“Find your own application fee,” he says. 

“Dad—” he stupidly tries to reason with him but is cut off. 

“You will enlist. You will enlist and you will serve the country that gave you everything,” he says. “Otherwise, the day you turn 18, you are on the curb and you don’t ever come back. Do you hear me?” 

Alex stands up with a bitter smile on his face. “What makes you think I’d ever want to come back to this shithole anyways?” 

****

**1997**

Alex comes down the stairs in his pajamas having just brushed his teeth and he stands on the bottom step, expectant. 

“What do you want? I told you it’s bedtime,” Dad says without looking away from the game on the television. 

“Mom always reads me a story,” he explains. 

“You don’t need a story, Alex,” Dad says, taking another drink from his bottle. “Go to bed.” 

Alex crosses his arms. “I can’t sleep without it.” 

The bottle slams down hard on the side table and Alex jumps as Dad turns around in the chair to glare at him. Greg quickly stands up from his spot with a smile that’s too wide to be real. Alex is seven, he’s not stupid. “I’ll read you a story, okay?”

“No,” Dad says firmly in the voice that makes Alex’s stomach ache with fear. He bites his lips to keep from crying. Dad doesn’t like criers. “Sit down, Gregory. He’s not a baby anymore. Go to bed, Alexander.” 

“But mom—” he tries one last time, but clearly it is the wrong move because Dad stands up looking angrier than Alex has ever seen him. 

“Don’t mention your mother in this house ever again!” Dad yells and Alex takes several steps back up the stairs as Dad walks towards him, face turning red with rage. “That woman is dead to us!” 

“Good riddance,” Clay says, his eyes never leaving the television. Alex sneaks a glance at Flint, who’s hiding his face in a book while he wipes away a tear.

Alex can’t help the tears that start to fall, even though he tries. Dad points a finger at him, close enough to his face that Alex starts to tremble. 

“You wipe those tears and you get upstairs now, before I give you something to really cry about,” Dad says.

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers before he runs up the stairs so fast that he actually trips going up on the edge of his pants and ends up smacking his chin painfully, biting his tongue in the process. He scrambles back to his feet, not looking back to see Dad’s reaction and hurries into his bedroom. He dives for the bed and throws the covers over himself. 

As soon as he pulls Chewie into his arms, he starts to cry in ernest. Mom hasn’t even been gone a full day yet, and already he misses her so much. 

When the door opens an hour later, Alex assumes that it’s Flint coming to bed and doesn’t turn around from where he’s staring at the wall. He’s surprised when the mattress dips and a pair of arms move around him. 

“Shhh,” Greg says quietly. “Dad’s passed out downstairs, but we still don’t want to be caught.” 

Alex nods, understanding. 

“I miss her,” he whispers around a lump in his throat. 

“I do too, Bud,” Greg says. “Do you want me to tell you a story so you can sleep?” 

Alex nods, snuggling back into Greg’s arms. 

“Star Wars?” Greg asks. 

“A New Hope?” 

“Okay, but only the beginning,” Greg says kindly, before he begins. “A long time ago in a galaxy far far away…” 

Between the crying he’s been doing for the last hour and the overall exhaustion of the entire day, Alex doesn’t even make it to Tatooine before he’s fast asleep. 

****

**2007**

After a particularly bad fight with his dad the night before, Alex finds himself at school early the next morning to avoid another run in. As much as he hates his classmates, he hates his dad more. It's some kind of sick joke that Alex feels safer at a school full of people who bully him constantly than he does in his own home. He wonders, not for the first time, what it must be like to live in a home filled with love and acceptance rather than violence and fear. 

Alex steps into the music room and let’s his body relax for the first time since yesterday. It’s good. A safe place for him. He has so few of those. But before 8am, nobody is ever here, not even Mr. Walters. 

He sets his backpack down and moves to sit on the piano bench. Alex didn’t bring his guitar to school today. It’s in his room and after sleeping in the shed last night, he didn’t feel safe going back into the house this morning to get his things. It’s fine. The melody running through his mind will likely sound better on the piano anyways. 

Alex places his hands against the keys, then starts tapping on various ones, trying to figure out the right starting note. He tries several before finding the perfect one. Once he hears it, he smiles. He squares his shoulders and starts to play. 

It takes him a few tries to work out the correct melody to match the song he has in his brain. When he gets it right, he plays it through a few times, tweaking it here and there until it’s perfect. Actually, he’s pretty proud of it. It’s one of his best yet. It’s slow and sad, but it’s not utterly hopeless like most of his recent stuff has been. 

He plays it several times until he has it memorized, and then grabs blank sheet paper off of his teacher’s desk to jot down what he’s come up with. When he’s done, he goes back to the keys to work through the next part of the song, thinking through potential lyrics. He wants to write about being broken in places that can’t be easily fixed, but needs to find a way to make it lyrical. 

Trusting that the right words will find him, he closes his eyes and loses himself in the music. He’s focused, working through lyrics in his mind, so he doesn’t notice the change right away. The melody shifts slightly. A note of hope. A whisper of promise. 

His mind settles and lyrics start to find him. He zeroes in on a feeling of love and safety. His heart warms. Without stopping to agonize over each word, he starts to sing of a peace that he’s only ever dreamed off, but suddenly his heart is full of. 

The energy in the room builds. He doesn’t notice the way the hair on his arms stands tall. Something moves through his body, giving him the feeling of a loving hug. The room is electrified. He continues to play not noticing the tears falling from his eyes or the smile growing on his face. He just knows that this feels right. 

A moment later, the feeling vanishes. The energy dies. He tries to keep playing, but the song fades away and he can’t remember the words he sang or the way the melody had changed. He opens his eyes in confusion and looks around the room. 

When did it get so cold? 

Later, once Maria shows up to school, she asks him about it. She tells him that his aura has changed. And he usually doesn’t believe in her psychic stuff, but something has him describing the moment to her. Telling her the feeling of getting so lost in the music that it had taken over. He feels better when Liz tells him she’s had that feeling, too. Only, she gets it when she’s in the science lab. He figures he can’t be losing his mind or going crazy if Liz thinks it’s normal. Perhaps passion is just like that. All encompassing and electrifying, while also being safe and settling. 

Either way, it solidifies Alex’s decision to go to school for music, no matter what his dad says. He’ll spend the rest of his life chasing that feeling. It’s the first time he’s felt whole that he can remember. 

****

**1997**

Alex, Flint, and Greg sit on the concrete steps staring out at the empty parking lot. It’s late enough that the sun is starting to set and most of the teachers have already gone home for the day. Greg had tried to tell Mrs. Michelle that they would just walk home, but she’d informed them that no student is allowed to cross the railroad tracks. They have to wait for an adult to pick them up. 

“He’ll be here soon,” Flint says. His voice is confident for a boy who’s been saying that for the last hour and a half. 

“Mom was never late,” Alex says. Mrs. Michelle gives him a sad look and Greg puts his arm around his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna go inside and call your house again,” Mrs. Michelle says, standing up and brushing her pants off. 

“Why isn’t Dad here?” Alex asks once the door closes after Mrs. Michelle. 

“I think he forgot,” Greg says with a deep sigh. 

“I don’t think he wants us,” Alex whispers the thought he’s been too scared to say aloud. 

“He doesn’t want  _ you _ ,” Flint says, throwing a rock at the ground and standing up. Alex flinches at the harsh words. “Why do you always have to bring Mom up?” 

“Don’t you miss her?” he asks. He knows that Flint does. He hears him crying in bed at night. Flint thinks he’s being sneaky about it, but they share the same room, he’s not dumb. 

“Clay’s right. She left us, get over it,” Flint says. 

Alex stiffens. His hands curl into fists and he wants to hit him, but Flint is bigger than him and Alex won’t win that fight. 

“Screw what Mrs. Michelle says. I’m walking home,” Flint says. He grabs his backpack and starts to walk off. 

“Flint!” Greg calls after him, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Mrs. Michelle said we have to stay here,” Alex says, looking at Greg with concerned eyes, but Greg’s watching Flint walk away. 

Greg grumbles and grabs both of their backpacks off the ground. “Come on.” 

Alex stands up and looks back at the building. He doesn’t want to get in trouble. Dad said he doesn’t want another note coming home. But Greg is holding his hand out for him and Alex trusts him, so he takes his hand and they follow after Flint. 

They catch up to Flint easily enough, but Greg keeps them back. Allowing Flint to walk ahead of them so he can have his space. 

“Dad does want you,” Greg assures him, squeezing his hand tight. “He’s just going through a tough time right now.” 

Alex nods like he believes him because he wants it to be true. Alex is pretty sure it’s a lie though. Dad doesn’t hold his hand when they are walking into the store. He doesn’t call him Kiddo. He doesn’t play Mario Kart with him. He doesn’t tell him bedtime stories or ask if he’s brushed his teeth, or even make sure he has clean pajamas to wear to bed. For the past three days, Alex has had cereal for dinner because his dad keeps forgetting he’s allergic to shellfish. 

And last night, he sent Alex to his room when he got home from school because he said he looks too much like Mom.

****

**2007**

Alex loves Maria and Rosa, he really does. But when he enters Maria’s room and sees them both passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth, he turns around and walks out without a word. 

“Hey, Chiquito!” Rosa yells after him. 

He doesn’t turn around, he just keeps walking. He hears a pair of footsteps running after him and he wonders which of them it’ll be chasing after him this time. This, sadly, is a common scenario for them and he’s sick of it. 

He has his answer when a hand grabs his elbow and pulls him around — Rosa. 

Her eyes are alight with a dark fire. They always are when she’s drunk or high. 

“What so you’re going to judge me now?” Rosa asks. “After I’ve never once judged you?” 

Alex is about to give her a bitter reply, because he’s truly so over watching the person he depends on most in this world become this resentful, empty thing… but he reels it in. Rosa isn’t his father. And while he may hate being around her when she’s drunk because she’s so full of anger all the time, she’s never once directed her full rage at him. She doesn’t need his snark, she needs his help. 

He lets out a deep sigh and runs a tired hand over his face. 

“No,” he says honestly. 

He doesn’t judge her. He knows how hard she’s trying to do better. But he also knows that there’s something broken inside of Rosa that only rehab and therapy can mend. Rosa refuses to go, though. 

He loves her, but he can’t fix her and he can’t be around her when she’s like this. And it’s selfish to even worry about himself while she’s spiraling, but he just needs her to pull her shit together before he drowns, too. He’s barely treading water here. 

Rosa gives him one last glare, but when he doesn’t criticize her, she drops her arms to her sides and relaxes. 

“Where are you going?” she asks. “We were going to hang out tonight.” 

Alex could tell her that he can’t be around all of this, but he’s explained it to her before. When she’s sober, she understands. When she’s sober, she promises to do better. And then they end up right back in the same spot. 

“I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,” he sings instead. Saying it through song lyrics has always worked for them. Maybe this way she’ll hear it. 

She looks like she’s going to argue with him and he braces for the anger he’s growing increasingly used to from her. 

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, visibly deflating. 

He shakes his head. He’s disappointed, but he’s not mad. 

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Will you stay?” 

“Are you going to drink?” he asks. 

The friendly mood evaporates in a second. She’s narrowing her eyes at him and he’s smart enough not to push. They can talk in the morning when she’s sober. 

“I’m gonna go and find Liz,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. 

“She’s with Valenti.” The way Rosa says it, he knows that she knows exactly how much it pisses Alex off. 

He sighs and walks out of Maria’s apartment and into the cool December night. He could try and call a ride, but honestly, who would he call? He has a total of three friends in this world and currently two of them are drunk and the other is hooking up with the boy he used to call his best friend but now is his biggest bully. 

Well, not his  _ biggest _ bully. That title is reserved for his father. 

Alex curses under his breath and starts walking in the direction of town. The person he really wants to talk to right now is Greg, but that’s not possible. Alex looks at his watch. It’s five in the morning in Baghdad, but he’s not even sure that’s where Greg actually is. His brother got moved to some classified mission and in the last six weeks, Alex has only gotten one phone call from him that lasted a total of two minutes before the call got cut off. 

Alex is used to feeling like he’s being held underwater. He’s used to struggling for air. But it’s different now. He used to have something solid to hang onto. Before, he always had Greg. He had Rosa, Liz, and Maria. But lately, it just seems like every support he’s ever known is slipping away. And he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to swim on his own. 

****

**1999**

Alex enjoys going to Liz Ortecho’s house every weekend. Liz lives above the Crashdown Cafe where her dad works and he’s decided that it’s pretty much the coolest place in the world. When he goes over to her house, they get to sit at a booth in the back and eat lunch together without parents… Like real grown ups. And when it’s slow, Mr. Ortecho lets Alex make his own milkshake and doesn't say anything when he adds more than one candy. Like, today, he had let Alex add Kit Kats, Reeces, Oreos, and M&Ms! 

The best days are when Maria joins them. Liz and Maria are quickly becoming Alex’s best friends. He still likes Kyle and hangs out with him every Monday night when Mr. Valenti comes over to watch the game. But Kyle doesn’t like to chalk the driveway anymore and Alex doesn’t have any interest in playing sports which is pretty much all Kyle wants to do these days. So when they are at school, Alex sits with Liz on the playground and shares her headphones while he colors and she reads. And Alex plays with Maria’s hair at lunch as they talk about their favorite Disney movies. 

Today, Rosa has joined them, which is great. She’s not always home, but when she is, she tells them stories that have Alex laughing so hard, his side hurts. She touches him with affection and smiles brightly and makes him feel like he can do anything. 

“I like that color,” he comments, as Rosa paints her nails a glittery dark purple that’s nearly black. 

Rosa looks up at him and says, “Do you want me to paint your nails, too?”

There’s no teasing in her voice and zero judgement, even though he knows that painting nails is something he’s only seen girls do. Still, the idea of having glittery purple nails excites him and he wants to try it to see what it would be like. 

“Is that okay?” he asks quietly, so that only Rosa can hear. Liz is in the middle of telling Maria a story and neither of them are paying any attention to Alex at the moment. 

“Hey, Chiquito, you like what you like,” she tells him with a smile and doesn’t wait before taking his hand and starts painting his nails. 

Alex doesn’t say anything, but he smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He listens as Rosa starts to sing along with a song on the jukebox and even joins her after a few lines. 

“You like music, too?” she asks him. He nods and so she continues, “When my mom is being super annoying, I like to turn my discman up as loud as I can and just… forget. You know?” 

He doesn’t say that he likes to do the same thing with Greg’s discman when his dad gets to be too much, but the way Rosa is looking at him, he doesn’t have to. He just nods. 

“There you go,” she says when his first hand is done. He pulls his nails up to his face to examine them closely. He likes how they look. The color reminds him of a starry night, which has always brought him comfort. “You like?” 

He blushes but nods and she kicks him lightly under the table. “None of that. Like I said, you like what you like. They look good.” 

He smiles again and blows on his nails in the way he’d seen Rosa doing earlier. 

“You want me to do the rest?” she asks. 

“Please,” he says, putting his other hand out. 

An hour later, his dad is picking him up and he’s grabbing the handle on the car door when his dad reaches out for his wrist, pulling his hand closer to his face. 

“What’s this?” he asks with a look of pure disgust. 

He tries to pull his hand out of his dad’s grip, but his dad only holds him tighter. It hurts and he wants to cry, but he knows that will only make it worse. 

“Rosa painted my nails,” he says defensively, reaching out with his other hand to try and pry his dad off of him. It doesn’t work. His grip is too strong. 

“Manes men don’t paint their nails,” his dad says firmly before letting his wrist go with so much force Alex stumbles back into the car and falls to the ground. “Get up.” 

Alex glares at his dad as he stands back up, rubbing at his wrist. 

“I won’t have any of this in my house, do you understand me?” 

Alex wants to ask, any of what? But he doesn’t. 

“Yes, Sir,” is what he says instead. His dad opens the car door and gets in. Alex chances a glance back at the Crashdown and notices Rosa standing by a window, watching him. She puts her hands up to her ears like she’s wearing headphones and starts dancing and singing before she makes a heart with her hands at him. 

“Alexander, get in the car. Now!” his dad barks. Alex hurries to get in the car, but not without sending Rosa a grateful smile first. 

****

**2008**

In January, a week before spring semester starts, Alex meets with his counselor and learns that he has most of the credits he needs to graduate already, leaving his schedule wide open. With an early acceptance to UNM and his applications already sent off to the colleges he’s applying to in New York, California, and Colorado, he doesn’t feel the need to load up on more classes than he has to. Still, he wants to be home as little as possible and taking an early dismissal or late arrival is out of the question. The UFO Emporium where he’d picked up hours in order to fund his college application fees doesn’t open until 4pm on weekdays, so using the extra time to make some money isn’t an option. 

After some discussions back and forth about electives and objections from Alex about being around his classmates any more than he absolutely has to, they decide that Alex will take two independent studies this semester. It works out in his favor. Alex can avoid home, avoid his classmates, and learn something that actually interests him for a change. His counselor gives him two weeks to decide on what he’ll learn and find a faculty member to sponsor his credits. 

The first independent study is easy. Mrs. Haller agrees to let him study songwriting. His second independent study is much more difficult. Alex ends up at the public library, wandering the stacks aimlessly, trying to figure out what he’s passionate about enough to learn. He’s there for an hour without any kind of direction when he passes by the language stacks and he feels an odd pull. 

He stops and studies the stack. He doesn’t need a foreign language credit. He tested out of all four levels of Spanish freshman year thanks to all the time spent at the Ortecho’s growing up. But maybe there’s another language he could learn. 

He runs his fingers over the books, eyeing the spines and debating what sounds good. German makes him think of Clay and how he’s stationed over there, and it’s a hard pass. Italian could be fun. Arabic seems too big a challenge. Mandarin, too. 

He’s running his fingers over the lesser known languages all placed under the “other” sign when he’s hit with a strong static shock. He pulls his hand away, shaking it out and sucking his finger into his mouth. He can still feel a buzz of electricity moving through his body. It’s weird. He looks closer at the book in question that had caused the shock — it’s a book on sign language. 

He doesn’t know why he feels compelled to pull it off of the shelf. It’s not like he knows a single person who’s Deaf or using ASL. Still, he sits down on the floor and thumbs through the book with a passing curiosity that quickly becomes a vested interest. He reads all about Deaf culture and the grammatical rules of sign language. The more he learns, the more it just feels… right. 

Three hours later, when that book is done, he pulls out another one. Then another one. Twelve hours later, he has five books under his arm as the old librarian kicks him out of the library so they can close for the night. 

And with that, Alex’s decision is made. The only hurdle is finding a teacher who will sponsor him. He goes back to the guidance office and is surprised to find that there is a special education teacher who is fluent in ASL. Alex emails her and she agrees to sponsor his independent study on the condition that they meet once a month over lunch to check on his progress. 

It’s a win win for Alex. He gets to learn sign language, practice it with somebody who is fluent, and have an excuse to avoid the cafeteria once a month. With Liz and Kyle getting serious, he just knows once they return to school, Kyle is going to be a regular at their lunch table. He’s not ready for it. The worst part is, nobody else seems to have a problem with how often Kyle is around. Rosa will make jokes about it and insult Kyle in Spanish like he doesn’t speak it himself and Maria will roll her eyes at Kyle from time to time, but that’s it. Alex has brought up his concerns a few times and each time, the girls seem to think he’s just reading too much into things. After all, Kyle keeps his homophobia in check around Liz, so if she doesn’t see it, it must not exist. 

He loves his friends, but he’s getting sick of the way he keeps getting pushed to the side. He’s not looking forward to Kyle invading all of his spaces. He’s not ready for it. He anticipates he’ll be spending most of his lunch periods in the library instead. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t need anyone anyways. 

He’s 5 months from graduation and freedom. He just needs to focus on what’s ahead. He can keep treading water until then. 

****

**1999**

Alex’s dad has never hit him before. Not like this, he thinks as Greg holds an ice pack to his face while they both hide out in the shed at the back of their property. He’s spanked Alex before when he’s broken a rule. He’s grabbed his wrist too tight when he’s tried to stop Alex from doing something. And there have been plenty of times when his dad has pushed him hard enough to fall while sending him to his room. This is new though. This will leave a bruise that he can’t hide. 

“You can’t piss him off like that,” Greg says, his voice sounding wet, like he’s going to cry. 

“I don’t try to,” he says through his tears. “Everything I do makes him mad.” 

“I’m sorry,” he tells him, lowering the ice pack to look at him properly. Greg’s wince is enough to tell Alex that it looks as bad as it feels. “It’s going to bruise.” 

Alex lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Good. Let him see what he did to me.” 

“If anyone else sees this, they’re going to take you away,” Greg tells him, giving him a serious look. 

“Fine by me,” he says. 

He dreams about being taken away. About running away and living with the Ortechos. Sometimes he thinks that wouldn’t be far enough. He looks up at the stars and thinks that the only safe distance from his dad would be Mars. Liz says there’s probably life out there somewhere, and she’s really smart so Alex believes her. 

“Alex,” Greg says, his tone disapproving. 

“What? I hate him,” he says, standing up and pacing, feeling trapped. 

“You don’t hate him,” Greg says calmly, standing up and reaching out for him. 

And maybe that’s true. He wants to hate his dad, but he doesn’t. Maybe that’s why this is so hard. 

“He hates me,” he counters. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Greg assures him, but the words fall flat. After all, he’s been saying that since Mom left and yet his dad keeps finding new ways to prove Greg wrong. 

Greg grabs onto his arms and pulls him in for a hug and Alex lets him. It’s been a really bad day and he just wants the reminder that somebody cares. 

“I don’t care if they take me away,” he says, wrapping his arms around Greg and holding him tight and he cries. “Anywhere is better than here.” 

Greg squeezes him tight. “Don’t say that. If they take you away, they won’t just be taking you away from Dad. They’ll be taking you away from me, too.” 

Alex’s hands fist in Greg’s shirt and he buries his face in his shoulder, wincing when he puts too much pressure on his eye. He can’t lose Greg. He’s already lost Mom. And Flint and Clay hardly even look at him these days. 

Alex pulls away and wipes his eyes, careful not to touch his swollen one too much. 

“It’s Friday,” he says, starting to formulate a plan. Alex always feels better when there’s a plan. “I don’t have to see anyone until Monday. Maybe it’ll be gone by then.” 

“I thought you were going to Maria’s birthday party tomorrow.” 

Alex swallows down another sob. Maria has been talking about her birthday party all month. She’s super excited that her mom rented out the roller skating rink. Alex has spent the last week helping her make the perfect mixtape for the party. Rosa has even agreed to come. He’s been looking forward to it. 

“I’ll stay home,” he says with a decisive nod. This is just what has to be done. And isn’t that what Manes men are about? Making tough decisions? Making sacrifices? 

“He won’t do this again,” Greg promises. 

Alex wishes he believed that. 

****

**2008**

Alex sits in the small closet this school calls a classroom and tries to imagine what it must be like spending the entire day in this one, singular room. There isn’t even a window. Mrs. Thornton does her best. There’s a mirror on the wall meant to make the space look bigger than it is. Bright posters with cheesy but inspirational quotes hang next to a bulletin board filled with vocabulary words from all subject areas. And behind the only table in the room are dozens of pictures of Mrs. Thornton and a single boy. A curly-headed boy who rarely smiles in any of the pictures, but when he does it’s gorgeous. In the youngest picture he can find, the boy can’t be older than 6th grade, which, Mrs. Thornton tells him, is when she’d started teaching him. 

Turns out, when you’re Deaf, there aren’t too many teachers who can educate you. It’s both beautiful to see the clear affection she has for her student, and incredibly sad. Alex can’t imagine how isolating the boy must feel being the only student in class with the same teacher he’s had for 7 years. No matter how nice Mrs. Thornton is, it’s a lot. 

Then again, Alex envies him to a degree. He wouldn’t mind the chance to learn away from the constant bullying. It’s quiet in here, which is nice. Alex has grown so used to noise. The sounds of yelling, the blaring of a television at all hours of the night, the hoots and applause of his classmates egging each other on, and even when he gets away from that… There’s his anxiety and depression that’s on a constant loop. 

It’s different here though. Alex always feels calm when he enters the room. Maybe it’s the incense Mrs. Thornton burns despite the school’s policy. Maybe he’s just the smaller space far away from the chaos of the school, creating a cocoon of serenity. There’s just a soothing energy when he enters the room that puts in at peace in a way that only music ever has. 

It’s nice. 

SO HOW HAVE YOUR LESSONS BEEN GOING? she signs at him. 

They’ve decided to keep their meetings entirely in sign so that he’s forced to practice his receptive language skills. It’s been helpful. He’s picking the language up quickly. Insanely quick. Mrs. Thornton has been impressed with his progress. 

It helps that Alex doesn’t have much else to occupy his time. Rosa’s been on a downward spiral and Maria enables it by going to the parties with her. And these days, Liz is always with Kyle. So Alex has become a lot more isolated. With nothing else to do, he’s filled three notebooks with songs and is now conversational in sign language. 

I’M WORKING ON CLASSIFIERS, he explains, pulling a book out of his backpack and opening it up to the chapter he’s been working through. BUT I’M NOT SURE I UNDERSTAND WHEN TO USE THEM. 

Mrs. Thornton spends the forty-five minute lunch period reviewing classifiers with him and making sure he feels comfortable enough to practice on his own. When the bell rings, he’s surprised enough to jump in his seat. He’d been so focused that the rest of the world had slipped away. Once he realizes that it’s time to go, a knot starts to grow in his stomach. 

Today, they are working on their group project in history. He’s been paired with two of Kyle’s friends from the football team. Alex has been stressing about it all day, he can’t believe he’d forgotten about it. 

He gathers his stuff and thanks Mrs. Thornton, before heading out the door, leaving the safety of the classroom. He starts doing the math in his head on how much it will hurt his GPA if he doesn’t do the group project. It would be easy enough to get out of it. Alex is a regular in the dean’s office. He knows just about every way to be kicked out of class. Granted, he’s never done so on purpose before. Usually when he’s sent out of class, it’s because he’s been provoked into doing something. But if he knows that Kyle’s buddies are going to mess with him until he lashes out in self defense, maybe he can just skip a step and save them all the trouble. 

He’s so caught up in his own anxiety that he doesn’t see him at first. The cute boy from Mrs. Thornton’s pictures. In the pictures, he always looks so relaxed, unthreatening, even when he’s not smiling. Which is why it’s interesting to see him in person. His entire body language screams defensive. Alex recognizes the way his shoulders tense and his hands fist, ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. Only, nobody is in this hallway apart from him. 

Alex smiles at him, hoping that it conveys comfort. They don’t know each other, but he recognizes what it looks like when somebody sees a threat in every situation. He understands that deeply and it pains him to think that anybody would ever look at him that way. He’s not his father. He never will be. 

The boy gives him a tight smile back, which is about all Alex expects from a kid that he’s honestly never seen before despite the fact that they’ve apparently gone to school together for the last seven years. 

Alex turns the corner down the hall to history, and it’s not until he reaches his class that he realizes all of his anxiety is gone and his heart feels warm. 

****

**1999**

Alex lays on the floor between Liz and Rosa’s bed staring at the ceiling. Mr. Ortecho had turned the lights off over an hour ago and Liz had passed out fairly quickly after that. Alex can’t sleep, though. He can’t get comfortable in his sleeping bag. Any position he finds, puts too much pressure against one of his bruises. His dad has been steadily increasing his abuse towards him, but he hasn’t left a mark where anybody can see it. Not since the first time when he’d given Alex a black eye that had taken over a week to heal and required Greg put makeup on him to cover it each day before school. 

“Stop moving,” Rosa grumbles, rolling onto her stomach and staring down at him from her bed. 

He stills instantly, even though he’s on his stomach and the pressure on his injured ribs makes it difficult to breathe normally.

“Sorry.” 

Rosa pulls back her covers and scoots closer to the wall. 

“Come on,” she says, patting the spot beside her. When he doesn’t move, she lets out an annoyed huff. “Do you really want to sleep on the hard floor?” 

He moves carefully so he doesn't wince in pain, aware of her eyes on his face. Then he crawls into bed beside her. 

She smiles at him once he settles down in that conspiratorial way she has that always makes him feel like he can come to her with anything. Rosa is just as likely to help him bake cookies for the homeless man on the street as she is to convince him to break the rules, and he loves her for it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper, but he’s close enough to hear her in this tiny bed. 

“Talk about what?” he asks, refusing to meet her eyes, because somehow, Rosa always knows. He can feel her eyes on him and so he focuses on the band logo on the oversized sweatshirt she wore to bed. She doesn’t say anything, but she keeps looking at him until he can’t help but squirm. The movement has him wincing as a shot of pain moves through him. 

“People suck,” she says, causing him to let out a shocked laugh. 

He’s not supposed to say that word. The one and only time he’s used it, his dad hadn’t been happy. But Rosa doesn’t police her words or worry about how they’ll land, and he envies that about her. He wishes he had the same ability. He doesn’t get to say whatever he’s thinking whenever he’s thinking it. 

She pulls her hand into her sleeve and then reaches out to wipe his face and he ducks his head. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying. She smiles at him when she’s done and pulls her hand back out to pat his cheek. “Perfecto.” 

“What does fag mean?” he asks the question he’s been too scared to ask even Greg. It’s what Clay had called him last night when Alex asked why their dad only ever hits him. Flint had laughed when Clay had said it and Alex didn’t have to know what it meant for the word to embarrass him. 

“Did somebody call you that?” she asks, sitting up in bed, looking like she’s ready to go to battle. 

He shakes his head, but she doesn’t believe him. Her eyes are wild and he knows that she’s just crazy enough to run over to his house in the middle of the night and cause a scene, getting them both in trouble. He pulls on her sleeve and she mutters something under her breath before laying back down. 

“What does it mean?” he asks, quietly, her reaction making him even more curious. 

“It’s a mean word to call a boy who likes other boys,” she says, reaching out for his hand and giving him a sad smile. 

He pulls his hand away, confused. “Don’t most boys like other boys?” 

“Not like that Chiquito,” she says, and her tone takes on the same tone that their principal’s uses whenever his dad forgets to pick him up from school. “It’s for boys who want to marry other boys.” 

“Oh,” he says and his stomach drops, though he isn’t sure why. It’s not like he wants to marry other boys. He doesn’t want to marry anyone. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she reaches out for his hand again and he lets her hold it even though he doesn’t need her comfort. He’s fine. 

“I’m not a fag,” he says defensively. 

“No, you’re not,” she says pointedly, which makes him even more confused. “But even if you do decide you like boys, it would be okay.” He shakes his head as she adds, “Don’t use that word.” 

He doesn’t understand why Clay would even think that he likes boys. Sure, his dad gets mad when he plays Knights and Princess with Maria and lets Maria be the knight. And he gets in trouble when he uses Liz’s fruity chapstick. And his dad tries to get him to join sports teams at the Y when Alex begs for music lessons… But does liking the stuff his girl friends like more than the stuff his boy friends like mean he likes boys? Isn’t that backwards? 

“My dad thinks I shouldn’t let you paint my nails,” he tells her, waiting to see what she says. Maybe liking girl things does mean he likes boys. 

“Because nail polish makes you gay? That’s stupid,” she says. “Look at all the rockstars that paint their nails. It’s called artistic expression.” 

“I don’t like football.” 

“Well football is possibly the gayest sport there is anyways,” she says with an easy laugh that helps settle the butterflies in his stomach. “Do you see how they are always touching each other’s butts?” 

Alex makes a disgusted face that has her laughing louder. Liz groans and rolls over in her bed, away from them, but doesn’t wake up. 

“Why would anybody want to touch somebody’s butt?” he asks. 

Rosa shrugs. “Adults are weird like that.” 

“Yeah,” he says through a yawn. Now that he’s comfortable in a bed and not on the hard floor, the pain isn’t as noticeable. He can feel his body relaxing and he’s ready to fall asleep. He closes his eyes for a minute. 

“Alex, look at me.” 

He opens his eyes and raises his eyebrows at her in question. 

“You like what you like, okay?” she says, her voice more serious than it usually is. He nods. 

“And whoever is hurting you—” 

“Nobody is hurting me,” he cuts her off, nervously. He’d promised Greg he wouldn’t tell anyone. 

“Whoever is hurting you,” she continues, not accepting his denial. “They are the broken one. Okay? You are perfect.” 

He hides his face, which only causes her to start singing. “Woo-ee-oo, I look just like Buddy Holly. Oh-oh, and you’re Mary Tyler Moore…” 

She taps his shoulder until he looks up and she gives him an encouraging look until they both finish the chorus together. “I don’t care what they say about us anyway. I don’t care ‘bout that.” 

“You hate that song,” he tells her once they stop singing. 

“Yeah, but you don’t,” she says with a shrug. 

And she’s right. He doesn’t. He’s been listening to music a lot more recently now that he finally has his own discman. That has been one song he’s been playing on repeat. There aren’t many things he can do to escape his life. He can’t talk about the abuse his dad puts him through. He can’t show people the pain he feels. But he can listen to music. 

There’s something about finding a song that matches his emotions perfectly, turning up the volume, and drowning the world out. He wants to learn how to play the guitar next, to see if it gives him the same relief that he gets when he’s belting out his favorite songs in the shed. 

“Why are you always so nice to me?” he asks. “Kyle says you’re mean to most people.” 

“‘Cause most people suck,” she says. “But you’re my Chiquito, you know?” 

He doesn’t but he lets her pull him into her arms and cuddle with him until he falls asleep. 

****

**2008**

Alex sits on the roof of the Crashdown overlooking their small town. Rosa is beside him, hugging his arm and resting her head against his shoulder. She’s having a rare moment of sobriety that he’s more than happy to take advantage of. She’d called him, asking if he’d come over, and he hadn’t hesitated. His dad had been steadily making his way through a 12-pack and Alex was eager to get out of the house before his dad realized that alcohol wasn’t going to solve whatever issue he’d had and decided to take his feelings out on Alex. 

“I’m honestly surprised you didn’t call Maria,” he admits. 

Rosa had been getting in pretty deep with drugs and he just couldn’t deal with the constant shit storm. They’d had a massive fight. It’s been close to two months of barely any contact apart from a text message here and there. To say that Alex has missed her would be an understatement. He’s been suffocating without her. 

“It’s different with us,” she says, lifting her head to look at him. He sends her a confused look, not sure what she means. She seems to struggle with what to say, opening and closing her mouth several times. There are tears in her eyes. He doesn’t push though, he knows what it’s like to need the space to work through the chaos. 

Eventually, she doesn’t say it, she sings it, “And the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaking?” 

He leans his head against her own, and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He’s pretty sure that Rosa didn’t call him here to talk. If she wanted advice, she’d have called Maria. Or woken Liz up. She called him because she needs someone to listen. 

“I don’t need Maria right now. I need you, Chiquito,” she says, as a few tears fall from her eyes. “We don’t judge. I know your secrets and… I know I can tell you mine.” 

“Always,” he assures her. 

No matter what she tells him, he’s a steel trap. For starters, he doesn’t know who he would tell. He still talks to Liz and Maria, but they don’t share personal details. Or, well,  _ he _ doesn't share personal details anymore and he can’t remember the last time either of them have asked. But more importantly, Rosa is the person who has always protected his secrets. She’s never told a soul about his dad. And though he came out to her when he was thirteen, she kept his secret for three more years before he was ready to come out to Maria and Liz. 

Alex wraps his arm around her shoulder and holds her close. It hurts him to see her like this. She’s his fire. His passion. His strength. To see her drown makes him question how he’s ever supposed to fucking survive this miserable place. 

“I found out something about my mom and…” she pauses, biting her lip. She’s nervous. He gives her the space she needs to work through whatever it is she needs to work through. 

He stares up at the sky while she does. His eyes drifting over to his favorite unnamed constellation. He never has gotten around to giving it a name. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he wants to keep it just for him. His own special thing. 

He feels Rosa shake herself off and he looks back down at her. 

“I told her to leave and never come back,” she admits quietly. “And she actually did. She’s gone.” 

Alex is surprised. Liz hadn’t mentioned their mom leaving. 

“I’m so sorry—” he starts to say but Rosa cuts him off. 

“And now Liz is devastated and I can’t help feeling like I’m the reason,” she continues. “I mean, I  _ know _ I’m the reason. I told her to go. I told her I hated her. And Liz is better off without her. Honestly. Good riddance. She’s a mess and has already fucked up my life, she doesn’t need to fuck up Liz’s. But still. Liz keeps crying herself to sleep and I feel so bad. I break everything I touch.” 

Alex takes a moment to digest everything she’s just said before he shakes his head. 

“That’s not true. I know somebody who breaks everything he touches,” he tells her. “He’s an asshole.” 

Rosa snorts at that and mutters in Spanish under her breath, something about murder and burying a body. It makes him smile. He’d nearly forgotten what that feels like. The muscles on his face strain against the unfamiliar movement. 

He leans into her to get her attention. He waits until Rosa meets his eyes again. 

“That’s not you,” he assures her. 

“It’s a little bit me,” she argues. “I break things a little.”

She gives him a pointed look, and he relents. Because, yeah. She’d messed their friendship up a bit with all of her partying. She’d gotten high and said some things that he won’t be forgetting anytime soon. But no matter what she’d done, she’s still the girl who painted his nails and held him when he was bruised, and sang to him when he needed strength. And no matter how far she’s fallen, she’d still called him tonight. And that is the difference between somebody like Rosa and people like Elena Ortecho and his dad. 

“You dent them, how about that?” he says. She smiles sadly. “You want to know the cool thing though? Dents can get buffed out with a little effort.” 

“I want to get clean.” 

He nods encouragingly, even though he’s heard this before. 

“I’m serious,” she says, sitting up fully. “I know a guy. He’s offered to help me.” 

“What kind of guy?” he asks, already skeptical. Many of Rosa’s horror stories start with ‘I know a guy.’ 

“Not like that,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “He’s been through this before and gotten clean. He wants to help me stay sober this time. But it means going away for awhile.” 

“How long?” he asks. 

“As long as it takes.” 

Alex nods. He doesn’t want her to go, but he wants her to continue partying even less. And this is the first time he’s heard her talk about actually seeking out help staying clean. Usually, she’s promising him that she’s strong enough to do it herself. 

“I support any plan where you are clean,” he tells her, seriously. 

She lets out a deep sigh. “Thanks,” 

She rests her head against his shoulder again and he leans into the touch. It’s been awhile since he’s been this close to another human. He forgot how nice it feels to be touched with love instead of hate. To not feel like he’s going to crumble anytime somebody reaches for him. Rosa has always had a way of helping him feel bold and empowered like a phoenix. She’s had her own issues to deal with and he can’t blame her. But lately, he’s been crumbling under the flame. He needs Rosa to get sober before everything around him turns to ash and there’s nothing left worth saving. 

***

**2003**

It’s not that Alex hasn’t ever thought about his sexuality before. It would be difficult to grow up in his home and think of much else. It’s just that Alex has never considered himself to be gay. It always seemed stupid to consider labels when he hasn’t had any interest in dating. He’s never been attracted to anyone. 

So prior to today, all of the abuse for his sexuality has been confusing. He hasn’t understood it. He’s denied it. 

But he’s sitting in Maria’s living room watching The OC with her, when Ryan Atwood leans in and kisses Marisa Cooper and Alex finds himself flushed. The room feels too warm and there’s a weird tingling in his belly. And though he’s never had a boner before, he finds his pants tenting, much to his alarm. He grabs a pillow and quickly pulls in into his lap to cover his embarrassment. 

“I want to be Marisa Cooper,” Maria says, dreamily. 

And with horror, Alex realizes that he feels the same way. He’s not turned on because two people are kissing. He’s not turned on because Marisa is hot — though he can acknowledge that objectively, she’s very pretty. If he were straight, he would be drooling over her. Except, he’s not. He looks at her and he feels nothing. 

Alex is attracted to Ryan Atwood. 

He sinks further into the couch and crosses his arms, wishing he could become invisible. And Alex remembers. He remembers every taunt. Every roll of the eye. Every disgusted look. Every punch. 

Manes men don’t like boys. Manes men aren’t fags. 

He digs his nails into his arms in an attempt to stop himself from crying with shame. He’s absolutely horrified. His dad had been right about him. He’s gay. And if his dad had been right about this, what else is he right about? 

“Are you okay?” Maria asks him. 

Alex shakes his head. He can’t tell her. He can’t. She’s one of his best friends. She’s the sunshine in the dark and he can’t lose her. He won’t be able to stand it if she looks at him in disgust. 

“I don’t feel good,” he says. It’s not a lie. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

Alex doesn’t understand… How could he let this happen? 

****

**2008**

Alex has 7th period free to work on his independent studies. Sometimes he spends it in the library working on his sign language. Sometimes he’ll take advantage of the open music room and use the piano to write. Today, he can’t sit still. He needs a distraction. He’s crawling out of his skin. So he wonders the hallways instead, with his guitar in hand, thinking that maybe he’ll find a quiet place to play. 

He feels like a live wire. He’s already lost it on a teacher today and earned himself a detention. He just… He can’t deal today. He can barely think, let alone breathe. He’s desperate for something to come and take him away. 

Today has been awful. More awful than usual. Alex had woken up to an empty house and the news that Greg’s been injured while on a mission. His dad didn’t give him any information other than they’d gotten him stabilized and were transferring him to Germany. He’d left this morning, but hadn’t taken Alex with him. Hadn’t even bothered to wake Alex up. All he’d left was a fucking note on the counter. 

Alex has been slowly losing his mind ever since. He’s tried calling. Flint didn’t know any more than Alex. Clay and his dad haven’t picked up any of his thirty calls. He’s tried texting and emailing. Nothing. 

Alex roams the halls aimlessly, restless. He doesn’t focus on where he’s going, he just knows that he needs somewhere safe to fall apart. He’d leave and go home, but he thinks that might actually make things worse. And so he isn’t overly surprised to see that he’s ended up in the Science hall, but he is surprised to realize that the biology lab is open and calling his name. 

Alex steps inside. It’s empty. Quiet. And the sun is streaming in through the window just so. He moves into the room and takes a seat on top of one of the tables where the light can shine on him. He’s been in the darkness all day, the warmth of the sun feels good against his skin. 

He picks up his guitar, hoping that he’ll be able to get lost in the music. He plays through a song that he’s been working on, but his fingers keep slipping over the chords as his mind keeps going back to Greg. To how scared he must have felt when it happened. To how alone he must have been laying in a hospital bed in the middle of a fucking war zone without any family around. 

Alex knows what it’s like to be alone and hurting. It’s unbearable. Alex isn’t big on crying. His dad had made sure of that early on. But here, in this empty room with nobody around to see, he lets himself break. He stops trying to hold the broken pieces together and allows himself to shatter completely. And he plays. 

He doesn’t focus on getting the notes any which way or making sure he sounds pretty and perfect. He just plays. He pours all of his anxiety and sadness into the music and lets it guide him. Searching for purpose in the chaos. 

Creating beauty out of ashes, as Rosa used to tell him. 

An energy fills the room, wrapping around him like a warm hug. It runs through his body, filling the empty spaces and pulling the pieces back together again. He continues to play, chasing after the feeling. Tears fall freely, but he doesn’t stop. He leans into the way his heart warms with peace and love. The way he suddenly feels safe. Like all of the darkness has been chased away and all there is is light. Nothing can harm him here in this space. 

He’s addicted. He needs more. He strums his guitar and chokes on a sob, as any worry he’s ever had becomes a distant memory. And then, without warning, a static shock surprises him. It makes him jump enough to pause his playing. The buzz of it is still moving through his body as the song leaves him. He strums a few more times, desperate to get it back, but it’s gone. 

He sets the guitar to the side and wipes his eyes with his sleeve. He has to take several steadying breaths. He glances up at the clock, intent on timing his breathing to the second hand. He always has an easier time calming down when he has something to focus on. He watches the second hand go around the clock twice. His anxiety over Greg starts to return. 

He feels like an asshole for forgetting, even if it had only been for a moment. But it’s back now. The bell is about to ring. The real world is calling. He shakes his head and takes one final breath, squaring his shoulders, gathering his armor. He pulls himself back together as best he can. And when he goes back out into the hallway, he’s still a mess of worry. His mind is still racing. But he can breathe just a little bit easier. 

****

**2003**

“Hey, Chiquito, why do you look like a Pearl Jam song?” Rosa asks, sliding next to him and leaning her ear against his so she can hear out of his headphones. “Not listening to Dashboard? Things must be serious.” 

He looks around making sure that nobody else is with her before glaring at her. He didn’t think anyone knew about this spot under the bridge. That’s why he’d picked it. He wanted to be left alone. He hasn’t been in the mood to talk with anyone the last few days. 

“What are you doing here?” he snaps, causing her to do a double take and whistle in appreciation. 

“Ay dios mio, I knew there was a fight in you,” she says with a chuckle. “There’s hope for you yet.” 

“Can’t you find anywhere else to be?” he tells her, not amused. It’s been a week since that day at Maria’s and he’s been spiraling ever since. 

She points at one of the concrete pillars covered in graffiti. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he’s looking at it, he recognizes her work. She smirks at him and he lets out a deep sigh. 

“I was here first,” she says teasingly, unfazed by his attitude. When he doesn’t smile in return, she knocks shoulders with him. “What’s up, Chiquito?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around her, wanting to disappear so she won’t keep looking at him like that. 

“Fair enough.” She doesn’t push him, which he appreciates. He’s not ready to talk about it now. He’s not ready to talk about it ever. 

She pulls her backpack into her lap. He watches as she unzips it and takes out several cans of spray paint. She hands him one and he takes it without thinking. “Wanna express yourself a different way?” 

He’s nervous, but there’s also an excitement building at the thought of doing something rebellious. Rosa has a way of making him reckless that he appreciates. He’s always so careful and restrained, terrified of doing something wrong and getting in trouble. But Rosa doesn’t believe in restraint. She’s loud where he’s silent and there’s a part of him that thrills at acting out. At finding an outlet for all of his anger. 

“Isn’t this illegal?” he asks, even though he’s already agreed to whatever it is she wants in his head. 

“Yeah, well so is driving drunk. Do you see my mom in jail?” Rosa says, bitterly. “Laws are stupid if they don’t apply to everybody.” 

He gets what she means. Last week, Mr. Fuller down the street had been arrested for hitting his wife. Yet Sheriff Valenti has seen some of his bruises and his dad still walks around this town like he owns the place. Apparently, only some lives matter to Roswell’s finest. And it sure as hell isn’t his. 

“Screw it,” he says, standing up and shaking the can, earning him a smile. “What are we making?” 

She shakes her head, standing up to join him. “I can’t tell you how to express yourself.” 

She waves to the blank concrete in front of him. “This is your canvas. Yell at the world.”

Alex doesn’t have a purpose when he starts. He paints the entire slab of concrete a solid black, using up an entire bottle of spray paint. Then he paints a constellation, a collection of stars that form a V shape. A set of stars he’s been particularly drawn to recently. And then, when that’s done, he ends up painting broken pieces of a crashed ship. Finally, once he’s satisfied, he adds the message, ‘We’re all broken without the pieces to get home.” 

When it’s complete, he tosses the empty can towards Rosa’s backpack and collapses dramatically to the ground, sighing deeply. Rosa comes to stand in front of his work and he’s suddenly nervous. He doesn’t know where it came from. He’d picked up the can and suddenly he’d just known what he needed to draw. It had just flowed out of him. But now that he’s done, he’s worried she’s going to ask questions. 

She moves to sit down next to him and when he looks up at her, she’s smiling. “Damn. Who knew you had it in you?” 

He shrugs. He sure didn’t. He lets out the breath he’d been holding once he realizes that she’s not going to criticize him. 

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on with you?” she asks, moving her backpack so she can use it as a pillow when she lays down beside him. 

He refuses to meet her eye. He really doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s not sure he’s ready. Even thinking about it makes him feel like he’s drowning and can’t catch his breath. 

“It seems no one can help me now, I’m in too deep, there’s no way out…” she sings, leaning into him, encouraging him to join her. Usually he would, but today he can’t. “This time I have really led myself astray. Runaway train never coming back. Wrong way on a one-way track. Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow I’m neither here nor there…” 

She trails off when he doesn’t join her and frowns. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she finally says, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his arm. He closes his eyes at the touch. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the feeling of somebody touching him with anything resembling kindness. “But when you’re ready, I hope you know that I’m not going to judge you for how you feel.” 

When he meets her eyes, she smiles at him knowingly and he realizes with a sinking feeling that she already knows. 

“How does the entire town know?” he asks, sitting up. “I didn’t even know!” 

Rosa moves to sit up too, but doesn’t say anything. He wants to fume. He wants to argue and yell and just scream at the world. But without her giving him any fuel, he doesn’t have anything to go off of. He finds his anger quickly dying and what he’s left with is the same shame he’s been suffocating under all week. 

“I’m…” he starts to say it but he can’t. He’s never said the words aloud. He’s barely even been able to say them in his head. She reaches out to hold his hand and it gives him the strength to just say it. “I’m gay,” he whispers. 

Saying the words aloud both causes a huge weight to be lifted from his chest while twisting his stomach in knots. He feels free but also like he might throw up. Perhaps that’s just the lingering effects of the spray paint, though. He stares at the constellation that he’s painted and tries to recall the feeling of peace he gets from the actual stars. 

When he is able to chance a glance at Rosa, she’s smiling at him. “Thank you for telling me.” 

He lets out a deep sigh as his heart beats wildly in his chest. “I haven’t told anyone else.” 

She shrugs, like it’s not the biggest deal in the entire world. Like this news doesn’t change everything. “You’ll come out in your own time. Nobody is rushing you.” 

He smiles at her, holding back tears at her support. “My dad will kill me.” 

Rosa moves closer to him and wraps her arm around him. He lays his head on her shoulder and lets the tears in his eyes fall. He rarely allows himself the luxury of crying, but this once, he permits it. After all, he feels like his confession has just committed him to a life of misery. 

“I’m sorry the world is so cruel,” she says. And that’s what he likes most about Rosa. She doesn’t paint a pretty picture of beauty and optimism. She’s not overly positive like Maria and Liz can be at times. She lives with him, down here in the real world. 

“I’m sorry your mom is a mess,” he replies.

She just shrugs and stares at the ground, so he bends his head down until he is able to see her eyes. Then he starts to sing the song he’d refused to finish before. 

“Can you help me remember how to smile? Make it somehow all seem worthwhile.” 

She takes a breath and looks up again, singing the rest with him. “How on Earth did I get so jaded? Life’s mystery seems so faded. I can go where no one else can go. I know what no one else knows. Here I am just drowning in the rain. With a ticket for a runaway train. And everything seems cut and dry. Day and night. Earth and Sky. Somehow I just don’t believe it.” 

She stands up and pulls him with her as they start to sing the chorus. She takes both of his hands in her own and dances with him while they sing loudly. By the end of the song, they are both smiling and Alex feels like the world might just be okay somehow. Rosa’s smile doesn’t last long though. She leans into him and he wraps his arm around her shoulder as she says, “I don’t think it’s just my mom.”

He’s not sure he understands. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can feel myself becoming this chaotic mess of a thing like her and I hate it,” she says. “I don’t want to be her. I don’t want to be broken.” 

He grabs her shoulders and turns her so she’s facing him fully and he can look her in the eyes. He shakes his head. 

“You’re not broken,” he tells her adamantly. “You’re vibrant and brave and fire...” he struggles to find the right word to describe all that Rosa is and all that makes her amazing. “You’re who I wish I could be.” 

She smiles at him, but he can tell she doesn’t really believe him. It’s alright. He can believe it enough for the both of them. 

They gather up all of the paint cans and make sure to pack them away in Rosa’s bag. Then she hands him baby wipes to clean his hands as best as he can. Once they are done and as much of the evidence of their crime is eliminated as possible, they join hands and decide to go for a walk. 

Rosa lets him lead and they take turns picking songs to sing together. Out here in the open, away from the world, they can belt out loud without fear. They can scream and yell. They can dance without eyes on them. They are free. They walk for a good hour before he realizes they’re nearly on the edge of town, by Foster Ranch. 

“How did we get here?” he asks and she laughs. 

“You’re the one leading,” she says. “I figured you were just trying to be away from people. Which, I don’t blame you. People suck” 

He nods in agreement, before checking his watch. It’s going to be sundown soon and his dad will expect him home. 

“I guess we should head back,” he says, not really  _ wanting _ to go back but knowing he doesn’t have an option. Until he’s eighteen and graduated, he’s stuck at home. 

“You need armor,” Rosa says. 

“What?” 

“Armor,” she repeats herself, and Alex has a flash of Rosa putting red lipstick on Liz. 

“I’m not wearing lipstick.” He shakes his head. 

‘“No.” She rolls her eyes at him, digging around in her bag before she pulls out a black pencil. “Can I?” 

“Can you what?” he asks, wondering what she’s doing with a colored pencil. 

“Put it on you?” When he continues to look confused, she adds, “It’s eyeliner. You’d look good with it.” 

“Really?” he asks, doubtfully. 

“Really. All the cute emo boys wear it,” she says. 

His dad would hate it. It feels dangerous and rebellious. But most importantly, it feels brave. And if there’s one thing that Rosa makes him feel, it’s brave. He feeds off the confidence she gives him. 

“Okay.” 

****

**2008**

Alex sits at the top of the bleachers, his headphones on, music at full blast. He’s taking in harsh breaths as he rubs at his face and tries to ground himself. He feels like he’s drowning. It feels like the entire world is crumbling around him and he can’t find his footing. 

Alex doesn’t want to fall apart. Not here. Not anywhere. He prides himself on being strong. On never letting the bullshit get to him. But it’s been getting harder and harder these days to keep it together. And today, he’s just had it. 

And the thing is, it hadn’t even been his dad’s doing. He’s been in Germany with Greg for the last several days, helping him recover from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Alex has actually been able to sleep in his house without fear for a change. So it’s been, arguably, a better week than most. Or it should have been. 

Except today, as he was walking into PE, Kyle had been a total dipshit and pushed him into the pool, fully clothed, backpack and all. And when he’d pulled himself back out, he could have handled his classmates laughing at him. They’re all fucking close-minded bigoted sheep. But when Mr. Andrews had barely said a word to Kyle about it, Alex just couldn’t. 

Which is how he finds himself ditching fourth period, soaking wet and freezing, but far away from the idiots of Roswell High. By some miracle, he’d left his iPod in his locker, so he thankfully has that going for him at least. He blasts “Snitches and Talkers get Stitches and Walkers,” because even the Panic! he’d been listening to hadn’t been enough. He debates texting the lyrics to Rosa, but refrains. 

She’s back to being distant again. 

Alex hits the railing of the bleachers as hard as he can. Then he hits it again. And again. And again. He hits it until his wrist is throbbing and the pain gives him a welcome distraction. Something else to focus on. 

He falls back against the fence that keeps kids from falling off the top and breaking their necks. And for a sliver of a moment, he wishes it wasn’t there…. He presses next on the iPod before his thoughts can drift too far down that dark path. He’s not suicidal. He doesn’t want to die, he just wants out of this fucking town. 

He pulls his backpack over. It’s wet, but no longer dripping. So that’s something. He unzips it, preparing himself for the damage, knowing it can’t be good. He pulls out his notebook first. He bites his lip when he opens the first page and sees the lyrics smeared. 

“I went to sleep a poet and I woke up a fraud,” his headphones sing and he lets out a bitter laugh that quickly becomes a choked sob. 

He turns a page and the paper falls apart at his touch. Months of songs, destroyed in a single moment. It’s poetic really. This world doesn’t give a damn about him. Why would it care about protecting his words when it’s never protected his heart? His songs are drowned much like his spirit. 

He lays his notebooks out in the sun to dry. Perhaps if he’s lucky, there will be something salvageable. 

Heartbroken isn’t a strong enough word to describe what he’s feeling. It feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest and thrown into a shredder for good measure. He feels so fucking empty and he’s struggling to figure out what the damn point of it all is? 

He should pack up a bag and just leave. Nobody will stop him. Nobody will miss him. He’s been sticking around for his diploma. He wants to go to college. He wants to grow up to be something and be able to flip off every person who treated him like he was nothing. But graduation is two months away and he’s not sure he can make it that far. 

He reaches back into his backpack and pulls out some more books, each dripping wet. He could care less that his history textbook is lost, Mr. Hampton is an ass. He hadn’t been all that into ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ either so he’s not crying over that loss. Technically it’s Maria’s book, but he’s bitter enough right now at all the time they’ve been spending with Kyle that he doesn’t care if the book is returned to her intact. 

When he pulls out the last book, he’s more careful. He bites his lips as he gently shakes the water off of it and tries to dry the cover on his damp T-shirt. It’s one of the books on sign language he’d borrowed from the library. He holds his breath as he turns to the first page, then lets out a sigh of relief. 

It’s dry. The plastic cover has somehow protected it. It’s the only thing in his entire bag that hasn’t been destroyed. He hugs the book to his chest and sinks off of the seat and curls himself up in the small space between the benches, creating his own cocoon. Then he closes his eyes, rests his head against the railing, and focuses on the music. 

“Light a match to leave me be,” he sings, signing the words as he does. He lets the music try and fill him in all of the empty places where love should have. 

****

**2005**

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Alex asks Greg. His eyes move to the duffle bag that Greg has just dropped at his feet and he feels a growing panic. 

He doesn’t understand. Greg hasn’t mentioned anything and now he’s just throwing this on him as he’s about to walk out the door? What is happening? 

Greg looks at him, struggling to find words. Which just buries the knife in deeper. Greg’s always been able to talk to him. They don’t have secrets from each other. They are each other’s rock. Or so Alex had thought. 

Alex can’t believe this. He can’t believe that Greg has enlisted in the Navy. Sure, their dad has been pressuring Greg to make a decision about his future now that graduation has passed, but Greg has never said anything. 

Alex waves his hands as if to say, ‘well?’ and all Greg does is shrug. Alex shakes his head. It’s not good enough. 

“The whole reason I stayed was because of you!” Alex yells, starting to feel out of control. 

“Alex—” 

He shakes his head and waves Greg off. He doesn’t want to hear it. Not now. 

Alex walks to the other side of the shed and tries to catch his breath. He can feel a full blown panic attack coming. Greg comes over to him and puts his hands on his shoulders, gently getting Alex to turn around. One he does, his hands go to Alex’s face and he tells him to breathe. 

“Don’t tell me to breathe, you’re leaving!” he argues. 

Greg gives him a pleading look, but it just makes Alex angrier. “You have to promise me that you’re going to be strong.” 

Alex snorts at that, shoving Greg’s hands off of him. 

“You’re leaving!” he knows he should plead a greater case than that. But he’s still in such shock and it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. 

Hasn’t their home been violent enough? Does Greg really need to go fight a war? 

“Alex, please,” Greg says. 

“No,” he continues to argue. “You know what, you’re no better than Mom.” 

“That’s not fair,” Greg snaps. 

“No?” he says with a bitter laugh. “Every single time that he hits me and I think about leaving this place, you ask me to stay, and I do. I stay. Every time. And now you’re just going to go? How the hell is that okay?” 

“I graduated,” Greg argues. “What am I supposed to do?” 

“Not abandon me here!” Alex yells. 

“I am not abandoning you,” Greg says. “We’ll still talk. I’ll still be here whenever you need. I’m just a phone call away.” 

“Are you an idiot?” he asks. “You’ve enlisted in the damn Navy. You think you’re going to have access to a phone whenever I need you? You think that being on a boat on the other side of the world, risking your life for nothing, is being here for me? You think I’m going to survive without you here?” 

“Hey!” Greg cuts him off sharply. “Things are bad. I get it. Why the hell do you think I’m leaving? You want me to stay here? All of my class is going to college. And Dad won’t pay for it. This is the only option I had. It’s better than the Air Force.” 

“The military sucks no matter what branch you’re in,” Alex says. 

“You think I should just sit around here and waste my life in this town?” he asks. 

“I think you aren’t supposed to leave without me,” he argues. 

“You’re 14!” Greg yells. “You don’t need me to crawl into bed with you and read you stories anymore, Alex. We’re not kids. And I’ve never been able to protect you from Dad, so what does it matter if I stay? You have three more years. Just stay strong and keep your eye on your future. You’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t know that,” he says with a glare. 

“Dad’s an asshole, but he’s not going to kill you,” he says. 

“Yeah? Well what if I kill myself?” he says. 

The air in the room feels like it gets sucked out. Greg goes incredibly still. 

Alex said it, but he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t  _ think _ he means it. He wants to get out of this town, but he would never take that option. He’d just said it to shut Greg up, and it worked. He accomplished his goal. 

They both stare at each other for a long time. Greg, waiting for him to take it back. Alex, stubbornly refusing to. 

“You wouldn’t,” Greg finally says, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Yeah, well what do you know?” he says bitterly as his eyes fill with tears. 

“Alex,” he says, his voice firm. Expectant. He wants him to take it back. He needs him to. But Alex just can’t. 

“Just go,” Alex says, defeated. He falls back onto the futon, unable to hold himself up anymore. He’s exhausted. 

“No,” Greg says. “Not like this.” 

“Well I don’t know what you want me to do? I’m not going to wish you good luck and I can’t say goodbye to you,” Alex says, choking down his emotions. He refuses to let Greg see him cry. 

“Alex, you are strong,” Greg says. “You are better than this place. Please promise me that you’ll stick it out. You have Rosa. You have Liz and Maria. And if things get really bad, you  _ have _ Flint.” 

Alex scoffs. 

“Flint is an ass, but he would help you if you truly needed it,” Greg says, giving him a serious look. “It’s three years. In three years you’ll be graduating and I’ll only have one more year left. Then we can both get a place far away from here. I’m going to save money. I’m going to make sure that I can take care of us.” 

Alex shakes his head. It sounds nice, but Alex knows what the military is like. Greg walks out that door and there’s a very real chance the next time Alex sees him, he’ll be in a casket. And that fear paralyzes him. 

“I’d rather you be here,” he says, barely a whisper. 

“I’d rather us have somewhere to go,” Greg says. 

Alex sighs, looking away. He doesn’t like it. 

“I love you, little brother.” 

The words rip out his heart as it truly sinks in that he’s leaving. Alex shakes his head. He knows that he should wish him well. That he should tell him goodbye. He will regret it his entire life if he doesn’t and something bad happens. And yet, Alex can’t get his mouth to move. 

Greg watches him for another minute, but when he realizes that Alex isn’t going to say anything, he sighs. He pats Alex on the shoulder and walks out, duffle bag in hand. 

****

**2008**

Alex walks down the hall after school, humming along to the Panic! song he’s got playing on his iPod to drown out his classmates. He has already stopped by his locker to gather his things and he just needs to get his guitar from the music room. He walks in, intending just to be a second, but his heart drops when he notices his guitar is not leaning against the back wall where he left it. He glances around the room, hoping perhaps his teacher had moved it for some reason. 

When he doesn’t see it, he starts to panic. He needs that guitar. It’s his lifeline. He walks around the room, looking under every chair, opening every cabinet, and checking every crevice. Even though he knows it’s impossible that his guitar could fit, he opens all the drawers where they keep extra music books. He’s desperate. His mind in a tailspin. 

He spends ten minutes pacing the room, pulling at his hair, trying to figure out where it could possibly be, before accepting reality. 

One of his asshole classmates must have taken it. 

Fuck this school. 

He storms out of the room, ready to burn this place to the ground. Alex has never been a violent person, but he’s not a pushover either. If somebody hits him, he hits back. And he’s ready to throw down. 

Music is the one good thing he has in his life. But leave it to the fuckers at this stupid school to ruin that too. God, he doesn’t understand why they can’t just leave him the hell alone. 

He storms past Maria and Liz, not wanting to talk to them, but Maria grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“Woah, what’s going on?” she asks, looking at him with concern. 

He scoffs, pulling his headphones down. “What’s going on?” 

What isn’t going on? His entire life is shit and he can’t say the last time he’s hung out with either of them outside of the school day. They are both looking at him with such concern and he can’t. The air in the building is thin and he’s struggling. Everything feels too loud, too bright, and too much. 

“Alex, talk to us, what happened?” Liz says, eyebrows furrowed and so filled with worry. 

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend,” he snaps. Liz takes a step back, like she’s been slapped. 

Alex doesn’t know that Kyle had anything to do with this. He’s not the only jock that likes to mess with Alex. But he can guarantee that Kyle at least knows who did it and didn’t do anything to stop them. Years of childhood memories mean nothing. Kyle lost any loyalty to Alex the moment he starting suspecting Kyle was gay. 

“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on so we can help?” Maria asks, reaching out for him, but he moves out of her grasp. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. 

“Well that’s not true,” Maria says. “Even if I couldn’t read it all over your face, your aura is dark. Talk to us. We’re your friends. We can help.” 

“Friends?” He laughs, though he doesn’t find any of this humorous. “When was the last time either of you acted like my friends?” 

Liz takes another step back, looking hurt. Maria doesn’t step back though. She’s never been the type. 

“How are we supposed to act like friends?” she asks. “You are constantly shutting us out. You don’t talk to us anymore. We ask you how you are and you always say fine. Alex, it’s obvious something’s going on and has been for a long time. Just talk to us.” 

He wants to contradict them. He wants to argue that they never ask how he is. Or at least, they never ask how he is and mean it. Whenever he tries to tell them about the shit he has going on, they belittle it with comments like, “it’ll get better,” or “just look on the bright side.” But he’s honestly too overwhelmed right now. He can’t fight them on this battle when he’s already fighting so many others. 

He just wants his guitar back so he can go home. He can’t be here anymore. He feels like everyone is staring at him. His skin is crawling. And he still can’t fucking breathe. 

Maybe if he tells them what happened, they’ll be able to figure out who took it and get it back. Lord knows if Alex asks for it back, whatever asshole took it won’t listen and he’ll end up in jail because he’s sent a kid to the hospital. 

“I can’t find my guitar,” he says through gritted teeth. “Somebody took it.” 

“Okay,” Liz says, her face immediately going pensive like it does when she’s trying to solve a problem. “Well are you sure it was taken? Maybe you just misplaced it?” 

Alex snorts and throws his hands up. “Of course.” 

He starts to walk away, but Maria grabs his wrist again to stop him. “Hey, we’ll help you find it, okay?” 

Liz nods as well, both of them looking sincere. He pulls his wrist out of her grip, but nods. He may be annoyed with them right now, but he’s desperate enough to accept their help. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Text me if you find it.” 

He doesn’t wait for their response. He walks away and heads straight for the doors, needing air. Needing to be free of this place. He steps outside and takes a big deep breath, trying to force air into his burning lungs. There’s a group of girls on the steps looking at him like he’s crazy. He  _ feels _ crazy. 

He’s too exposed. Too many people can see him. He moves around the building, wanting to find a quiet place to fall apart. He’s walking towards the bleachers when he hears it. The sound of chords being played. He’s instantly on edge as he stomps towards the sound. There’s an old Chevy parked in his spot, which annoys him. The bleachers are his quiet place away from the world. Of course some asshole has commandeered it, just like they commandeered his fucking guitar. 

He can barely see straight as he rips the guitar out of the boy’s hands. But the moment the boy opens his eyes, Alex registers who it is that he’s looking at. It’s the boy from Mrs. Thornton’s class. The Deaf kid. Instantly, his body relaxes and he realizes that he doesn’t want to fight him. He doesn’t need to. His guitar hadn’t been taken by one of Kyle’s friends. Still, it doesn't make it okay that this kid took his stuff and caused Alex to fly into a panic. 

YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL INSTRUMENTS OUT OF THE MUSIC ROOM. THIS IS MINE, he signs, knowing that the boy won’t understand him if he talks. The signs are sloppy and his hands are still shaking a bit from the adrenaline, but he figures he’s understandable enough. 

The boy’s eyes go wide like he’s in shock, but doesn’t say anything. It’s not okay. He at least owes Alex an explanation. 

I WAS GOING TO RETURN IT, he signs back. 

Alex shakes his head. It’s not good enough. 

IT WAS OUT OF TUNE. SO, YOU’RE WELCOME, he adds, defensively. It takes Alex a minute to process his sign before he can understand it. But when he does, his shoulders deflate and the anger leaves him completely. 

In fact, all of his negative emotions evaporate. He doesn’t know this boy, but his presence has a soothing effect on him. He eyes the boy, trying to figure him out. 

YOU’RE DEAF, he signs. HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S OUT OF TUNE? 

It’s very clearly the wrong thing to say. A wall instantly goes up and the boy is guarded. Alex tries to figure out what happened when he realizes what an offensive idiot he sounds like. 

Great first impression you’re making here, Manes, he thinks. 

SORRY, SORRY, Alex signs quickly. I JUST MEAN… YOU CAN’T TAKE INSTRUMENTS WITHOUT ASKING. 

The boy rolls his eyes at Alex and signs, OKAY, FINE. I’M SORRY. 

Alex’s eyes wander and fall on the pile of blankets, pillow, and a sleeping bag in the boy’s truck. He sleeps in his truck. Alex wonders what that must be like. Cold, he suspects. He’s probably supposed to feel pity, but all he can feel is envious. Alex would take the back of a truck over living with his dad any day. 

The boy raises his eyes at him, daring him to say anything. Alex isn’t about to judge him though. His own living situation is a mess and he knows how defensive he would feel if asked about it. His eyes fall on his own guitar and then back at the boy, realization clicking in his mind. 

LISTEN, IF YOU NEED A GUITAR TO PLAY, YOU CAN BORROW MINE, he signs. He knows what it’s like to need an outlet. JUST ASK FIRST. I NEARLY HAD A PANIC ATTACK WHEN I COULDN’T FIND IT. I ASSUMED SOME ASSHOLE JOCK STOLE IT. 

I DON’T NEED YOUR CHARITY, the boy signs. 

He shakes his head, because he certainly hadn’t meant to imply that the boy needed a handout. He just… He thought they could relate. For a sliver of a second, he thought he had found somebody who could understand. 

He stares at him, waiting for him to say something. Needing him to say something. He doesn’t. 

Alex is an idiot. He trolls his eyes and lets out a bitter laugh. 

FINE, WHATEVER, he signs and starts to walk away. 

Alex doesn’t feel the hand on his wrist, what he feels is a static shock so strong that it goes straight to his heart. The air around them electrifies. Surrounding them both like a cocoon. A wave of energy moves through him. It’s warm and it settles deep.

He closes his eyes and lets out an embarrassing moan, grateful that the boy can’t hear it. He can’t explain it, but it’s like a string has been pulling at him, leading him right here to this moment. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels every broken piece of his soul start to stitch back together. It feels like life and love. So much love. He feels safe and whole. Everything is right in the world. 

And when he sucks in a breath, he realizes for the first time in a very long time, as long as he can remember, he can finally breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> I have plans on continuing this verse with a third story of Malex together. I haven't started it yet, however, so I wouldn't expect a super fast turn around on that. Subscribe to the verse if you are interested in being alerted when the third fic get added. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love <3
> 
> **If anyone needs this fic broken down into chapters, let me know. I've done it for others and am happy to share the google link.


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